The Drink of the Gods
by KeepItFrosty
Summary: The Phoenix, the Oracle, the Wolf, and the Hunter. Four individuals so distinct, yet remembered by all with the same reverence and awe. It should not be so surprising. After all, it is in the times of greatest turmoil that the greatest legends are born.
1. Chapter 1: As Good As Gold

Chapter One: As Good as Gold

* * *

Golden eyes gazed out into the morning horizon.

In the distance, the dawn sun rose slowly, casting gentle rays of soft pinks, purples, and oranges.

Tan eyelids crested over yellow hues. Brand sighed quietly, feeling tender warmth kiss his skin. A hand traveled to his chest, grasping the red crystal hanging from a leather necklace. A passing breeze swept by, rustling coffee-brown hair with wispy fingers. Minutes passed as he stood there wordlessly, feeling the rising sun's heat bathe him, filling his body with vigor. Finally, his golden eyes opened as he turned around, turning his back to the morning as he slid open the door from the balcony to his room. He stepped inside, the wood floor cold beneath him as he looked around his room. The sparse space was now even more empty. Once-filled shelves were now empty and his desk was almost completely bare. All of it was now collected in the few boxes that were stacked neatly against the doorway.

He inhaled, eyes drawing close. _Today is the day…_ The breath escaped him. Shining eyes opened and settled on the pole-arm that rested against the wall _._ He felt his feet carry him over to the weapon. Brand brought up a hand and traced it across the head, following the heavy blade on one side and the armor-piercing hammer on the other. Moving to the grip of the weapon, his fingers ran along the ornate craftsmanship that he had toiled endlessly on. His hand brushed over its name, _Dryhtenweard,_ that was engraved in gold. How long has it been since he first came here? How long has it been since he arrived on this doorstep, afraid, hunger, and alone? How long since that little boy made that promise?

 _The rain was heavy. Thick droplets fell from the sky as the dreary gray overcast rolled above. His overgrown hair had been matted down and water was seeping through his clothes, biting his skin with cold teeth. Despite this, his tiny fists were clenched tight at his sides. Golden eyes glowed in the downpour, unshakable conviction rooted inside them._

 _"Nobody should have to live in fear!"_

His hand dropped, coming to rest at his side as the memory faded back into memory.

"Today I begin my journey to become a huntsman," he murmured, quiet once again taking its reign.

The sound of the coffee machine starting broke through the silence, rousing Brand from his thoughts. Tearing away his gaze from his beloved weapon, he made his way downstairs as the aroma of the caffeinated drink drifted throughout the air. The boy entered the kitchen to see a rather well-built man huddled over the coffee machine, a cup of the hot liquid steaming in his hand.

 _Andre._

Andre Drummond was a big, burly man with thick muscles born out of years of working in the mechanic shop. He had no hair on the top of his head to speak of, but the man was proud of the reddish-brown bush hanging from his face that he called a beard. He first arrived in Vale twenty-five years ago after a dispute with a gang drove him from his home city. Too young to retire, and too old to learn a new craft, the man started a small mechanic shop. His skill in craftsmanship and mechanical engineering quickly spread through word of mouth, bringing him great popularity, especially with the hundreds of prospective-huntsman staying at the nearby Beacon Academy. Yet, throughout the twenty-five years of success, Andre proudly remained the sole owner of the shop.

He was also Brand's kind-of-pseudo-dad.

Fifteen years ago, a young huntsman couple walked into the mechanic's shop. They were both regulars and Andre had formed close bonds with the two of them. However, instead of a routine checkup or upgrade, they had only come with a question for the man. They asked a favor of him: would the mechanic be willing to take care of something of theirs? Andre, confused but respectful of others' privacy, agreed to the terms of his old friends and did not push further. The couple had smiled, seemingly relieved by his answer, thanked him, and left. Andre had only mumbled himself in confusion as he watched them leave, one of them fondling with the leather pendant around their neck.

Months later, the man was awoken in the middle of the night by heavy beating on his door. Now, while his shop was not exactly in the slums of the city, it also was not in a place where robberies were unheard of, even though the visiting huntsmen-in-training had drop the number of break-ins drastically. So it was perfectly understandable when the mechanic approached the door with a massive hammer. Except, when the man flung open the door, he was not greeted with the sight of potential burglars; instead, he was met with a terrified two-year-old with glowing golden eyes. Confused, the man demanded to know why a two-year-old boy had visited his shop, and in the middle of the night no less. Shakily, the boy had offered one of two possessions he had on his person: a slip of paper. Andre quickly begun to read through the writing, his eyes widening in realization as he processed the words. _Remember the favor. Care for and teach him as your own. His name is Brand. Thank you old friend._ The man's eyes traveled to the simple leather necklace that boy was wearing, the only other thing that the two-year-old had left. With a muted sigh but a resolute will, the mechanic let the poor boy inside and the shop took on another inhabitant.

Thus, began Brand's life under Andre Drummond.

In the passing fifteen years, the boy learned much under the burly mechanic. He learned how to write, how to fight, how to use his hands. He learned (somewhat) proper etiquette, humility, and tact. Not only that, but Brand learned the little quirks and mannerisms of his mentor. Like how he always started the day with a pinch of sugar in his coffee, or how he never completely turns his back to an open door, or how he traces a scare on his hand every time he becomes agitated. More than that, fifteen years under the man had given Brand more than enough time to learn that Andre Drummond is _not,_ in _any_ way, a sappy or emotional person.

That is why when Brand went into the kitchen saw the mechanic's shoulder trembling, followed by the unmistakable sound of a _sniffle_ , he understandably assumed that something was _very_ wrong.

"Andre!" he exclaimed, panicked. The man jumped and cursed loudly at his voice. He spun around faster than the brunette had ever seen the muscled man move before.

"Oh! Ah, Brandy, my…my boy!," he stuttered out, wiping his face quickly, "good, uh, good morning to you too this…this fine day!" Brand's eyebrows furrowed together in concern.

"Andre, are you—"

"Yes! Completely fine!" the man interrupted hastily, "I was definitely not crying or, uh, showing emotion whatsoever. Yep. Mhm. Definitely," Brand could only blink confusedly at the unusual display of behavior. _What?…_ A snort came from behind him.

"I always knew you were a softy under all that muscle, old man." Brand turned to see a tall young man leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. The mop of dirty-blond on his head shook as he snickered, a smirk across his face and teal eyes taking on the scene before him with mirth. Next to him, a black-haired woman smiled, amused. Don fixed them with a glare which, while usually pretty intimidating, was completely ruined by the man's puffy eyes and the tiny bit of snot trickling out of his right nostril.

"I'm not soft," he growled, "I'm just happy that Brand is," he paused for a second, his voice becoming weaker, "growing up, and is," the man's body trembled as he sniffed, "becoming the great and wonderful," Don's voice cracked, "man that I always—" The statement went unfinished as he broke down. The man covered his face with his hands and began to sob. "I'M JUST SO PROUD," he cried loudly. From the doorway, the young man laughed, his body shaking as he cracked up.

"Yeah right, not soft my—Ow! Kasumi! What the hell?" he glared down at the woman next to him, who only rolled her maroon eyes as she removed her elbow from the man's stomach.

"Aaron," she sighed, the word carrying all the exasperation she felt. _Kasumi Hara_ and _Aaron Brown._ The only two workers currently employed under Andre, hired right out of Beacon. They were loyal and hard working staff members. They were also Brand's two closest friends.

The pair had taught Brand pretty much everything he knew about fighting. While Andre could draw up a dozen different ways to design an airship engine from memory alone, and could make machines out of the most basic of materials, he would be hard pressed to know about the dozens of different ways to incapacitate an opponent only using their left arm, or that if you hit a Deathstalker in _just_ the right position, you could paralyze its stinger along with most of its legs. Kasumi and Aaron, however, had both the knowledge and experience to teach Brand this and more. They had been the ones who helped Brand to pick and design Dryhtenweard to fit his fighting style. They had been the ones who, at his request, took him to fight against his first Grimm.

Sure, they still could and would kick his ass without breaking much of a sweat, but Brand had still made leaps and bounds in skill, becoming a formidable opponent in his own right.

They were also only part-time, balancing their job at the mechanic shop with various Huntsman missions. However, today was Sunday, which meant—

"Kasumi? Aaron? What are you guys doing here?" he asked. "I thought the shop was closed today." Aaron gave him a look of false disappointment.

"You didn't think we'd not see our little prodigy off, did you? Just what kinds of barbarians do you think us?" he said, an exaggerated look of offense on his face.

Brand leveled a gaze at the man that told him _exactly_ what kind of barbarian he thought he was.

Aaron put a hand over his heart, eyes full of mock hurt. "Ouch!" he tilted back melodramatically, as if shot, "you wound me my young protege, truly." Brand stuck his tongue out at the man but quickly broke down chuckling. Kasumi only rolled her eyes again at the boys' antics. However, it was offset by the smile on her face. She hummed as she took out two pieces of bread and stuck them in the toaster.

"You still haven't answered by question Brand. Do you think you're ready for Beacon?" she asked as her finger pressed down on the timer.

Brand's mirthful grin quirked into a small frown as he thought about it. "I don't know, really. I'm anxious, for sure, but.." he trailed off, eyebrows creasing together. "I mean, how did you guys feel?" Aaron snorted as he made his way to the coffee pot that Don, who had excused himself at this point to 'get the dust out of his eyes', had abandoned.

"My mom was just like the old man," the blond said, pouring coffee into two mugs he had taken from the cupboard, "she was crying all about how she was so proud and how her 'little baby boy' was now all grown up." Aaron mixed in some cream and milk as he continued, "as for me, I was excited as hell. Dad was a huntsman and he was my ultimate role model as a kid." The man picked up the two steaming cups and crossed back over the kitchen.

"I was excited as well," Kasumi started. "but I pretty much knew what I wanted to do at that point." She nodded gratefully to Aaron as she accepted a cup and offered the man one of the pieces of toast. "I knew that I wanted to be part of the support department before I even arrived," she took a sip of the caffeinated beverage, "though I do admit that it felt terrifying to be alone for the first time." Aaron made a noise of agreement as he bit into his breakfast.

"Yeah, you'll feel kinda overwhelmed at first. I mean, Beacon only accepts the best of the best. Knowing that you're among the elite puts a lot of pressure on you," the blond said while chewing.

Brand frowned. Beacon did have a pretty selective program… He had never really considered himself as someone at the bottom of the barrel, but in a place as prestigious as Beacon, everyone was bound to be beyond excellent. Self-doubt gnawed at the back of his mind.

"I guess I'll see when I get there. A van's supposed to pick me up at 9:15, so I got a little time." He stretched his arms, working out the nervousness creeping through his body.

Somewhere outside the shop, a car horn blared. Brand winced slightly at the loud sound. A little early for honking, but then again, people's moods were always a little testy in the morning. Brand's attention was quickly brought back to Aaron as he began recounting a story about his roommates at Beacon, with Kasumi throwing in a comment every once in a while.

Brand watched with a mirthful smile as Aaron threw his arms dramatically in the air. "There was gravy everywhere! And I mean everywhere! And then—"

Again, a car horn interrupted the blond's story.

Kasumi's smile quirked into a frown at the now unusual amount of horns. "What is going on out there?"

She unlocked her scroll, and her forehead crinkled a little as she stared at the screen. She eyed Brand oddly.

"Brand, what time did you say that you're supposed to leave?" she asked suddenly. Aaron was now peering over the woman's shoulder.

"I think they said a van was coming at 9:15."

Silence.

Brand looked up, confused by the lack of response. Kasumi and Aaron were looking at him strangely. Brand shifted, uncomfortable under their stares. Kasumi finally broke the silence, sighing with exasperation as her hand met her face.

"Uh.. what? Did I do something?" he asked in confusion. The dark-haired woman only sighed again —she was doing that a lot lately— and began muttering under her breath. He caught the words "irresponsible", "Oum save me", and "just like Aaron" somewhere in her ramblings. Brand's eyes went to the blond next to her. He watched as the man's eyes flicked down to the scroll and back to Brand. With a sigh, Brand unlocked his own scroll. Like always, the first thing that came up on the screen was the time.

9:32 —wait, now 9:33.

A sudden feeling not unlike nausea overcame Brand.

Another honk came from outside.

The three scrambled to the window. Outside, a van, the words "Beacon Transportation" printed on its sides, was parked in front of the shop.

Brand cursed.

* * *

Brand again thanked Oum for the natural kindness in people as he placed another box into back of the van. Instead of being irritated, annoyed, or even just leaving, the drivers had accepted his stammered excuses with an understanding smile.

With a heave, he thrust the last box into the van. He let out a quick exhale and clapped his hands together, ridding them of the accumulated dust.

"Well, I guess this is it." he started, drawing his eyes from the van. He turned to Andre and the others. "You guys will be okay without me, right?" he asked.

Aaron waved his hand dismissively. "Yeah, it's all good, we'll manage without our little genius."

Brand's eyebrows creased.

"Are you sure you guys will be fine?" He asked again, his gaze pointedly flicking to Andre, who was now hunched over, sniffling pitifully as Kasumi awkwardly attempted to comfort the man. Aaron rolled his eyes in response and pushed Brand forward.

"Don't worry about us kid, just get out of here you rascal," he said with a grin. Brand shook his head, a smirk across his face, and took a few steps toward the van. However, as he approached the door, his confidence slipped away. Anxiety, slowly but steadily, crawled through his body as doubts festered in his mind. This was a momentous decision. Life-changing. He knew that his life would no longer be the same as soon as he opened this door. HIs fingers grabbed the door handle. The metal felt cold underneath his skin. This was the point of no return. No coming back.

Could he risk that?

Could he accept that?

Brand looked back at what had been his life, his family, for the past fifteen years. Aaron was making a 'shoo' motion with his hand, but was grinning from ear to ear, Kasumi was smiling warmly at him as she patted Don's back, who was still sobbing loudly about 'How they grow up so fast!' and 'I remember when he couldn't even use welder!' A tender warmth blossomed in his chest, dispersing the dark feelings that had plagued him. Brand felt his own smile, genuine and shining, stretch widely across his face. Turning around, he tugged the door open and didn't look back.

* * *

The van ride was uneventful other than the whole being-late debacle. Brand could still feel the heat of embarrassment when he thought of his mistake.

Fortunately, the van had quickly arrived at the Vale docks, where a massive airship was awaiting for the accepted students. Tagging and checking in his belongings had been easy enough, and now he was trying to relax as the airship flew towards Beacon. Brand hummed softly as he sat against the wall of the airship. His knee bounced up and down excitedly —a nervous tick that Andre had never successfully beaten out of him. He took a breath as he leaned his head back. Slowly, lulled by the constant rumble of the engine, Brand fell back into his thoughts. He reminisced about the times when Beacon, when becoming a Hunstman had seemed like a distant dream, a fantasy that lay far out of reach. But now he was here, on his way to be trained at the prestigious academy and arguably the best one out of the four kingdoms. It was surreal, really. His hand traveled to his chest, fiddling his necklace as he fell into his thoughts. Would he fit in? How would he compare to others? What would training be like? Aaron and Kasumi had been unusually tight-lipped about their experience at Beacon, offering their own stories about teammates; however, keeping relatively quiet about their journeys as huntsman-in-training. The dark-haired woman had expressed something along the lines of 'not spoiling it for him' and 'giving him the genuine experience.'

That would have been fine, even touching, had Aaron not immediately followed it up with 'if we had to suffer it blind, so do you kiddo.' Kasumi had only smiled guiltily.

What a bunch of traitors.

He was broken out of his reverie when the airship's monitors, which had been displaying the recent acts of Roman Torchwick and White Fang, suddenly switched to a young, blond-haired woman. She looked slightly familiar, though the boy could not remember from where.

 _"Hello,"_ she started, _"my name is Glynda Goodwitch."_

 _The deputy headmistress_ , Brand finally recognized, recalling her face from Aaron and Kasumi's graduation pictures.

" _You are among a privileged few who have received the honor of being selected to attend this prestigious academy."_

Aaron's words rang inside Brand's head. _The best of the best…_

 _"Our world is experiencing an incredible time of peace, and as future Huntsmen and Huntresses, it is your duty to uphold it."_

 _A young boy stood in the rain, golden eyes glowing under brown hair._

 _"You have demonstrated the courage needed for such a task, and now it is our turn to provide you with the knowledge and the training to protect our world."_

 _"Nobody should have to live in fear!"_

 _"Finally, welcome to Beacon."_ With that final greeting, the screen went black.

Brand sat back, mulling over Ms. Goodwitch's words.

His attention was suddenly caught by the sound of someone groaning uneasily. Brand turned his head to see a lanky blond boy cover his mouth with one hand and hold his stomach with the other as his cheeks puffed out almost comically. He rushed towards the back of the ship, face green. _Oh no._ Brand's eyes widened as some vomit escaped the blond's hand and sailed through the air…

… and right onto the shoes of another student. _Poor guy._ The mocha-haired boy shook his head in pity as disgusted shrieks filled the air. He watched as people gave the blond a wide berth, regarding the boy with wary looks. _Not exactly the best first impression._ Now roused from his thoughts, he let his eyes wander to the other occupants of the lobby. So many different types of people were present. A dark haired boy with a magenta streak who was being peppered by questions from the energetic redhead next to him, a thin boy with a pronounced green mohawk playing some game on his scroll, a short girl wearing a black and red outfit. His gaze went to the many students gathered around the sides of the airship, peering out to see the campus of Beacon that came ever closer.

 _Welcome to Beacon,_ Brand repeated in his head as he rose from his seat. He walked to a window and looked out, golden hues gazing at the growing towers of Beacon. He gripped his necklace.

 _Mom, dad, I hope you're proud._


	2. Chapter 2: Gray Matter

Chapter Two: Gray Matter

* * *

Eyes, slate gray and cold like steel, took in the towering buildings of Beacon before them.

Pierre felt a rare sense of awe rush over him as he stepped off the airship, equipment in tow. He had seen many impressive sights while operating under his father, from grand research facilities in Atlas to majestic Mistralian palaces; however, Beacon still managed to be awe-inspiring in its own unique way.

The boy quickly shook himself from his stupor, chiding himself about his brief lapse of attention as he made his way forward with measured steps. Right now, the airship docks were a massive bustle of activity. Dozens of accepted students milled around him as Airships arrived, dropped off their cargo, and departed. Someone suddenly brushed against his side. His heart jumped and his hand twitched toward the revolver holstered at his side.

 _Stop._ Pierre quickly restrained himself. He forced himself to breath slowly. The boy counted each inhale, calming his pacing heart. A sigh escaped him as he loosened the gray-blue scarf wrapped around his neck. He never did mix well with crowds. Too many sounds. Too many sights. Too many variables to consider. In habit, his eyes scanned the crowd warily, automatically picking out possible threats and calculating the risks each one posed. They settled on a girl with a sword wreathed in flames sheathed at her side. The girl looked completely unperturbed despite the bright fire licking at her bare skin.

His brain whirled. _A semblance possibly… or specialized fire Dust_ _imbued inside the sword… the metal could act as a heat sink…_

The short handle suggested a one-handed fighting style, though that left the question of what the girl used her free hand for. Pierre drew his mind away from the swordswoman as he moved through the crowd. He would have to keep an eye on her.

 _No, wait._ The corners of his mouth turned the tiniest fraction of a degree downwards. The boy would have to keep an eye on _everyone,_ he quickly amended. Beacon was renowned for producing some of the most proficient Huntsman out of the four kingdoms. Consequently, it should be expected that all students, even the newly accepted, had to be extremely skilled or at least talented in some aspect. It would be foolish to underestimate anyone here.

He continued his way forward, heading towards the —he pulled out his scroll— _Student Weapon Locker Room_ where, as the name suggested, all students were supposed to store their weapons away before heading to the auditorium. As for his other luggage… The acceptance packet had said that everything would be delivered directly to the dorm rooms save for a pair of nightclothes for the first night. However, what the papers had failed to explain was exactly _how_ one was supposed to _know_ which room was theirs, much less how one was even supposed to get into theirs. It was surprisingly…irresponsible of the school to include such a glaring problem in their acceptance packet. Especially one as prestigious as Beacon.

There had to be some reason for the omission of that information. But why? What did the faculty find so important as to withhold that information specifically?

However, before his thoughts could continue further, his nose twitched as it caught something in the air, breaking Pierre out from his musings. Years of training had served the boy well, teaching him how to identify subtle differences in the air in order to pick out certain scents to gather intel about his surroundings, which was only further facilitated by the sharp nose of his canine heritage. He looked around nondescriptly, trying to locate the source while identifying the smell. Slate eyes narrowed slightly as Pierre matched it to refined Dust, most likely —he tugged down his scarf a little and sniffed again. It had a little kick, not too dissimilar to pepper— Red Dust, if he had to choose. Alarms went off in his head. By international safety protocols, Dust was usually stored in airtight containers when in transit. The high volatility of Dust came as a double-edged sword. The high reaction rate, coupled with its reaction efficiency, and broad reaction conditions made the material ideal for large energy plants, giving even some of the more distant settlements availability to power and driving electricity prices down. However, those same benefits made it extremely easy for Dust to be set off when handled improperly, resulting in many catastrophic incidents in the early days of mass Dust transportation. But soon enough, people became more careful, the kingdoms agreed on regulations to be put in place, and meticulous procedures were created, ensuring that one would be hard pressed to spill Dust, especially refined, accidentally. Pierre himself had only smelled the material in the open on a few different occasions. Demolition and mining sites often employed it for localized explosions during operations. It was also a frequent tool in theater, used to enhance special effects onstage. Some high-end restaurants even seasoned their dishes with it, enjoying its stronger taste that traditional spices lacked.

But there were no construction operations going on, theatricals were absent, and there certainly was no five-star chef preparing food. There had only been one other kind of instance when Pierre had smelled exposed Dust…

The sound of an explosion boomed like thunder in his ears.

…When he was fighting.

This time Pierre did not stop his hand as it gripped itself around the gun. He quickly went on alert as he surveyed the area and the other students who were startled by the sudden blast. It was not long until he saw a growing group of people that were crowded around something, and he quickly made his way over to inspect the commotion. Arriving at the circle, his eyes zeroed in on a pair of girls arguing with each other in the center. Next to them, a cart lay on its side with its contents, several cases, strewn about. Pierre sniffed and smelled different types of Dust residue in the air, telltale signs of a Dust explosion, but then he spied a fallen case with different types of the energy propellant spilling from it. Quickly making the connections between the arguing girls and the fallen Dust, his fingers relaxed from his weapon. Despite the two girls involved being to be at each other's throats, they were unharmed. There was no danger here. As rare as they were, it seemed to have just been an accident.

He took the chance to appraise them.

One of them was dressed completely in black save for a red cloak that went the length of her body, and looked to be quite young. The small girl had a short-cut black fringe that was dyed red at the tips. She held what looked to be a complex sort of firearm in her hands. The weapon looked incredibly bulky and unwieldy; however, Pierre knew the danger of judging things at face value. The fact that the girl was seemingly holding it without effort already said that there was more than what meets the eye. Its unusual design probably meant it was a transforming weapon which were growing exceedingly more popular among Huntsmen. The combination of ranged and melee attacks into one package made it extremely convenient and efficient for their line of work. It would be interesting to find out how the girl fights.

Pierre moved to the other girl. Her hair was the color of snow and strangely looked familiar… His eyes settled on the white snowflake printed on all of the girl's equipment. Realization quickly dawned on him. _Shnee._ As in the Shnee family of Atlas. Headed by Jacques Shnee, who was also owner of the Schnee Dust Company, the single largest private producer of dust in the four kingdoms. Pierre's mind quickly went through the list of known family members. Whitley Schnee. The only son of Jacques. The boy immediately eliminated him. Unless the youngest Shnee had somewhere along the line developed a fondness for women's clothing, this definitely was not him.

Then there was Winter Schnee, a Specialist in the Atlas military, serving directly under General James Ironwood. There was no reason for her, an Atlesian native, to be at a Valian institution. Not to mention that the girl in front of him seemed much too young to be a military specialist. Pierre also eliminated the oldest Shnee child. This could not be her. That left…

 _Weiss Schnee, named as the heiress to the SDC after Winter joined the Atlas military. Has made appearances at several social functions. Combat ability is unknown._ He had not been aware that the youngest Schnee daughter was interested in becoming a Huntsman. The heiress' only skills the boy had seen had been during an escort operation when Pierre had heard the girl sing at some social gathering. Not only that, it was odd that she chose to attend Beacon over Atlas Academy. It was true that Vale's huntsman institution was perhaps the best and most prestigious between the four kingdoms, but Atlas Academy was not far behind. In fact, their technological and research facilities surpassed those of Beacon a few years ago. Its combat program was also not so inferior to Beacon's that it was worth leaving the benefits of a close location to home —in extension, company headquarters— and crossing an ocean to a different continent in order to attend.

It could be that the Shnees simply valued the prestige of attending the most widely respected of the four academies. The family could definitely afford it. However, it could also be that there is something vital here in Vale that concerns either the girl or her family. Or finally, it could be that the heiress is trying to get away from something in Atlas, but Pierre could not find a reason for that. Perhaps to get away from local politics? The complicated machine that was Atlas high society would stress even the most experienced of politicians.

His gaze returned to the pair. During his musings, another person had entered their argument. A fairly tall black-haired girl stood next to the two girls, holding a vial of Dust whilst she spoke something that Pierre could not discern amongst the chatter of the crowd even with his Faunus hearing. He watched as she said something and Weiss Schnee's face turned red with indignation. The heiress scowled and gave an angry retort before quickly righting all her belongings and stomping off. With the excitement seemingly over for now, the crowd began to disperse. The girl clad in black and white herself had already left the last girl in the center, walking in his direction. As she passed him, he was taken aback by the sudden whiff of something familiar drifted through his nose. He blinked as he identified it. _Fur?_

His gaze snapped to her retreating figure. Black leggings with white shorts hugged her lower body and above that she wore similarly colored vest-like chest piece. On top of her head rested a singular bow. But there was no tail. No ears. No odd skin discolorations. Nothing that could have identified her as a Faunus. Of course, her traits could be less flashy like his, but that still did not explain the faint scent of fur…

He looked away. He was getting distracted. Committing the brunette's image to memory, he turned before continuing to his original destination.

* * *

Pierre could not help but appreciate the beauty of the campus as he navigated his way through it. The relatively isolated location of Beacon allowed the school to be more liberal in its design then some of the institutions located in the bigger cities. Buildings could be more spread out. Monuments and fountains adorned with fauna could decorate large plazas and courtyards.

Soon enough, he arrived at the locker room. It had a basic format, with lockers lined along the walls and back-to-back in several rows across the room. He chose one at random, finding no real reason to be picky. The first to be removed was his saber. With diligent care, Pierre hung his sword and its sheath on a hook inside his selected locker. A feeling of vulnerability overtook him as he felt the familiar weight by his side disappear. He did not like going around weaponless. Sure, he was proficient enough in unarmed combat, but it was always nice to have some insurance. However, he was not going to disobey directions simply because he felt uncomfortable. What mattered was that he followed orders, not his feelings.

Pierre was in the process of unlatching his holster when he noticed a girl off to his side staring at him, or rather, his revolver. He paused. "Can I help you?"

At the sound of his voice she turned her face toward him and he was surprised to see that it was a familiar face; it was the girl with the odd gun that had been part of the accident earlier. However, her companionship had changed, a tall, lanky, and blond boy now stood at her side. The girl blushed, embarrassed at being caught staring. "I-uh, um, sorry for staring! You just have really cool looking weapons!" she stammered, "Oh! I'm Ruby Rose by the way!" The girl thrust out a hand with an awkward smile. "Nice to meet you!"

Pierre blinked, and took her hand. "I am Pierre." he stated flatly.

The girl —Ruby Rose— again, smiled awkwardly and made a sort-of half gesture towards his locker, "So, what's their names?"

And again, Pierre blinked. _Names?_ "The names of… my weapons?" he questioned. The girl grinned widely, showing white teeth.

"Yeah!" she affirmed, nodding her head, "Everyone's weapon has a name!" Her words came out excitedly as she analyzed his revolver and saber with an almost disturbing fixation.

The corners of his mouth quirked down. "My equipment… do not have names."

She suddenly froze, turning to fix him with an incredulous stare. Pierre's hand inched towards his gun.

"WHAT?" she exclaimed. "A weapon is, like, a whole other person! You can't just leave it unnamed!" He took a step back, surprised by the girl's sudden outburst.

His gray eyes flicked to the blond who laughed sheepishly. The boy took Ruby —who was still looking at Pierre like he was crazy— by the shoulders and gently pushed the girl behind him. He gave an apologetic look to the ash-haired boy. "Heh heh, sorry about that. She's a total weapon nut and can kinda overreact sometimes." The blond held out his hand to shake. "Name's Jaune Arc, short, sweet, rolls off the tongue, ladies love it," he said and gave what Pierre guessed was an attempt at a charismatic smile.

The slate-eyed boy just raised an eyebrow disbelievingly, but took the outstretched hand anyway.

Ruby finally recovered from her stupor and looked away abashedly. "Sorry, it's just that your weapons are just so cool. And like, I think that weapons can say a lot about their user and their style." Pierre nodded. He could see where the girl was coming from. Ruby seemed to take his nod as an acceptance of her apology and she quickly changed the subject. "By the way, you wouldn't happen to know where the auditorium is, would you?" The girl asked.

She was given a strange look in reply. "The school should have sent needed information to the scrolls of all enrolled students." Pierre said, holding up his own for the other two to see, "Including a campus map."

A silence dropped between them, broken only when Ruby laughed awkwardly, "Ah haha." She rubbed the back of her neck. "Yeah, forgot about that," the black-haired girl turned and pulled Jaune down to her level, "Did you know about this?!" she whispered, though Pierre could hear her just fine with his Faunus-enhanced ears.

"No! I didn't even know they sent us the other information!" the blonde replied.

Ruby turned back towards him, "Ok thanks Pierre! We gotta go! See you later!" she yelled, dragging Jaune towards the exit and waving as she did so. The blonde echoed his own goodbyes as the pair disappeared out the building, leaving him alone once more.

The ash-haired boy's gaze remained on the door the two left through. _Are all Beacon students so eccentric?_

* * *

After the rather odd meeting with Juane Arc and Ruby Rose, Pierre quickly finished storing away his weapons and made his way to the auditorium. From there, he joined the growing group of students that stood before a stage that was bare save for a singular microphone in the center. That was fifteen minutes ago. By now, the last students seemed to have already trickled in and now they all stood around, murmuring amongst each other anxiously as they waited to see what was going to happen.

Finally, the curtain on stage rustled and Headmaster Ozpin stepped out. A hush immediately went over the students who all, Pierre included, edged forward to catch a glimpse of the renowned Beacon headmaster in person.

At first glance, the man looked unremarkable, insignificant even. Ruffled gray hair framed a middle-aged, angular face with a sharp nose only further accented by the small pair of spectacles resting on it. His eyes were a dusty brown, half-lidded and aloof as they observed the students.

However, this was Ozpin, the headmaster of Beacon, a household name as the most famous Huntsman on Remnant, the man who single-handedly strong-armed General James Ironwood and his Atlesian legions into submission, the person who revolutionized the art of Grimm hunting and the education for prospective Huntsman in the four kingdoms. In short, he was about as far from insignificance as humanly possible.

The crowd was silent as the headmaster stepped up to the microphone. He was quiet for a few moments, letting his eyes scan over his audience. They seemed to meet each student, holding a gaze for no more than a second before moving to the next. Eventually, Ozpin's gaze settled on him. The man's eyes met his, and Pierre was taken aback by the sheer age and wisdom in those coffee-colored orbs. For the first time in a very long time, Pierre felt vulnerable, exposed. It was as if the headmaster was examining his entire life in but a few moments. The past was suddenly pulled to the forefront of his mind. His breathing quickened as his heartbeat hastened. Memories flowed by like the current of a river: slow enough to catch a glimpse, but too fast to discern any details.

His first fight… his father looking down at him … a mother's loving touch…

And then it was over. His past once more receded back into the recesses of his mind as the headmaster's eyes flicked away from his. A hand covered his chest as Pierre closed his eyes. He counted his breaths carefully. _One.. two…_ the boy forced each one out slowly. Beneath his hand, he could feel his heart rate decrease, returning to a normal level. _What just happened?_

Up on the stage, Ozpin nodded to himself, seemingly satisfied with whatever he had seen amongst the new students. The headmaster leaned in towards the microphone.

"I'll keep this brief," he began, a finger pushing his glasses back up his nose, "you have traveled here today in search of knowledge, to hone your craft and acquire new skills, and when you have finished, you plan to dedicate your life to the protection of the people." He paused, eyes roving over the crowd. "But I look amongst you, and all I see is wasted energy, in need of purpose, direction." Pierre blinked. He had not expected such a seemingly harsh statement from the headmaster, and he was not the only one, judging by the numerous whispers that quietly erupted around him. The headmaster, however, continued on undeterred, "you assume knowledge will free you of this, but your time at this school will prove that knowledge can only carry you so far." His timeless eyes once more walked over each of them. "It is up to you to take the first step."

Finished, the headmaster turned and left the stage without a second glance. Glynda Goodwitch, who Pierre knew was once was a prodigy in her own right during her younger years and now was the assistant headmistress of Beacon, took Ozpin's place.

She tapped the mic and cleared her throat to quiet down the students. "You will gather in the ballroom tonight; tomorrow, your initiation begins. Be ready. You are dismissed."

Murmurs erupted almost immediately after the assistant finished, all focused on the headmaster's speech. It was unorthodox, and not at all what Pierre expected it to be, but he guessed it led credence to Ozpin's descriptions in newspapers as 'terribly mysterious' and 'ambiguous on good days.

 _How…blunt._ And it was. The headmaster had been completely, if brutally, honest with them. It was almost refreshing to hear someone not speaking with undertones and code words. Pierre's experience at Beacon was becoming more and more unique by each passing minute.

 _Knowledge can only carry you so far…_ The headmaster's words echoed in his head as he followed the rest of the students out of the auditorium.

* * *

Pierre entered the ballroom, dressed in a simple t-shirt and some comfortable pants. A rolled-up sleeping bag was tucked under his arm as he navigated through the sea of bodies, looking for a place to rest.

"Oh! Pierre! Over here!" at the sound of his name, the boy turned to see Ruby waving at him ecstatically. He vaguely considered ignoring the girl and her rambunctious attitude. However, such a blatant dismissal would probably garner the young girl's ire, and Pierre did not need to go around making enemies before the term had even started. And since he had already turned to face Ruby, he could not claim deafness in his defense.

He made his way over to the girl who seemed to have once again exchanged companionship. Jaune was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Ruby was gathered in a corner with a relatively tall blonde girl and who Pierre recognized as the strangely-scented brunette that interrupted Ruby's earlier scuffle with the Schnee heiress.

"So what did you think about Headmaster Ozpin?" Ruby asked as soon as the boy came to the corner. "Did you think his speech was really weird? He was really different when he was serving me cookies!"

Pierre opened his mouth to question _how_ exactly does one get one of the most important people on Remnant to serve them cookies, but the blond suddenly appeared at her side, slinging an arm around the smaller girl and fixing him with an intrigued look. "Rubes, whose this guy?"

"Oh!" Ruby smacked her forehead, "how could I forget?" she gestured to the blond and smiled at him. "Pierre, this is my older sister, Yang," _What?_ The two looked nothing alike. However, Ruby quickly moved on, motioning to the girl from before who currently sat against the wall, the space next to her illuminated by a candle, "and this is Blake." Said girl only fixed him with a disinterested stare while he gave a polite inclination of his head.

"Pierre, huh?" His attention was brought back to Yang as she spoke. The supposed older sister of Ruby gave him a once-over, and Pierre was admittedly unsettled by the lecherous grin that appeared on her face.

She gave Ruby a nudge. "You sure do know how to pick them sis! I might ask you to share sometime," Ruby's face turned an interesting shade of red that almost matched her cloak as stuttered denials fell from her mouth in response to her sister's insinuations. Pierre himself felt a heat creep up his neck, but he quickly reined his composure in…

…Which all went to naught when Yang licked her lips and gave him a suggestive wink. He instinctively took a step back and his hand twitched towards his side even though his weapons were stowed away in the lockers. _This girl…_

Fortunately, Pierre was saved when Ruby roughly elbowed her sister and huffed, "Yaaannng! Stop scaring away my friends!"

Thankfully, the blond's attention moved from him to her sister. The older girl grinned mischievously. "Oh? I never took you to be one so possessive of your men," she teased. Ruby's face once again flushed scarlet as she began to punch her sister.

"S-Shut up! It's not like that!"

"What in the world is going on over here?! Don't you realize some of us are trying to sleep?" Pierre's head swiveled at the sound of a new voice, and was surprised to see the Schnee heiress stomping her way over to their corner. What a coincidence for three strangers to meet each other again, even if they all were attending the same school. The two sisters seemed to share his surprise, though judging by the growing horror in both the heiress' and Yang's eyes, it was not nearly as neutral.

"Oh, not you again!" they both said at the same time.

As the sisters faced the heiress to argue once again, Pierre turned to the last member of their group. The brunette had by now put away her book. Her face had finally changed, exchanging an aloof and disinterested expression for something between half-amused and half-annoyed as she watched the girls' exchange.

While the dark-haired girl was distracted, he took his chance. He sniffed, and confirmed his suspicions. Fur. It was faint, but definitely there. And if he were to guess… _something feline._ His eyes narrowed almost unperceptively. What was she? _A panther, perhaps?_ He must have stared for too long, because the girl finally seemed to notice his gaze, and her own eyes narrowed at him suspiciously.

"Is there something wrong?" she pressed, tone just the barest hint agitated. Pierre quickly controlled himself, schooling his face into a neutral expression.

"Nothing, just a stray thought," he replied flatly, looking away. From his peripheral, Pierre could see her regarding him with a calculating look for a second longer, but the boy held himself firm. Finding nothing, she drew her gaze away and reached over to snuff out the candlelight. From the corner of his eyes, Pierre watched as her bow twitched, moving too much to be mistaken for a visual trick and too quick to be mistaken for a passing draft. Then the flame was put out, and he was bathed in darkness.

 _Interesting._


End file.
